UPDATE 14/8/21: I am putting this story on hiatus. I've reread what I have so far, and I really like it - I'm pretty happy with it, as my work goes. But the rest isn't planned out at all. I want to do this start justice, and the only way I can do that is to pull back and plan out the rest of the story first. Right now, my fanfiction foci are An Inconvenient Law (Lucy/Caspian, post-VDT AU), The Ship That Changed Everything (Lucy/OC, VDT AU), and To Save Queen Susan (LWW AU). I'm excited about all three, and want to keep it that way; I want to actually finish something. I'm sorry about this, and a bit sad to be making it hiatus'd, because I do really love it. It's *not* abandoned. My approximate timeline for another update is November or so this year. If you want to read more, review (it reminds me of the existence of this story) and/or follow. If you see there's more story beyond this chapter, take that as your cue that this is off hiatus. I wanted to write another chapter to make this note, so that it would come up in people's inboxes, really I did, but I wrote some of the chapter and felt it wasn't working very well; I'll rework it when I get to it. Once again, I'm sorry, and once again, this story is still going to continue! Just not yet, because I don't want to ruin it.

Susan's head was bowed and she looked the perfect example of a grieving daughter, quiet and submissive.

Inside, she was rebelling.

Why, Aslan? Why did you have to take them away, all of them, just when I was coming back?

She put her hands over her face, trying to hide the memories. It would be easier if she could only forget the ageless eyes that had looked straight through her, that had probed her innermost being.

That had radiated love and compassion.

She'd dreamed of Aslan every night since the train crash. Looking at her, just looking while she wept and pleaded, while she begged for their return and repented of her foolishness.

And at last, every night, that was enough. At last, every night, her sleep would be without dreams, only a faint memory of Aslan's love.

"In your world I have another name."

It seemed whispered in her ear, for her alone. Aslan wasn't just Aslan, he was also someone else, someone who wasn't a Lion but...

She didn't understand.

Why the dreams? Why, when she wanted nothing but to rage against Aslan, was he giving her boundless comfort? She wanted to yell, to scream, to call it unfair, but Aslan always thwarted any feeling of that nature.

Because it wasn't unfair.

They'd been on that train by choice.

She, by choice, had not been.

Aslan had taken those on the train and those watching for them.

And she hadn't been there.

It was part of his plan.

She couldn't argue against it.

No matter how much she wanted to.

She looked up again, the words on the cool stone slab burning into her memory, the same as they had the first time she saw them. Her aunt and uncle had been very kind, surprisingly understanding of her grief, and they'd selected the texts to put on each grave. Except for Lucy. She'd said she wanted it, and though Harold and Alberta had been puzzled by the choice, it just seemed right. Three words, a lesson as much for herself as for Lucy, or even any passerby.

Courage, dear heart.

Seeing it again made the tears rise - again - but she tried to hide them, her fingers tightening over her eyes.

A hand on her shoulder.

She jerked out of its clutch and looked up into the face above her. It was Uncle Harold, his expression lined with grief and compassion. Susan was shocked by his movement; he had never touched her before in her memory.

Never.

"What do you want?" If she couldn't take it out on Aslan there was at least someone else here.

"Nothing." Once again, she was surprised, this time by the quietness of his voice.

Susan remained staring up at him, then rose to her feet. He was almost at eye level. At last she said, though her voice seemed closed up, "Why are you so calm?"

He was silent.

It was a relief to speak, anger filling her voice. "Doesn't it hurt you too? Isn't it hard that your son, your only son, is dead? And my parents? And three of his cousins?" Her voice broke, then she continued, "Surely the death of his best friend would affect you too? And didn't you ever see or know the Professor, or Aunt Polly? Why aren't you weeping, and screaming, and begging for them to come back?"

Uncle Harold moved backwards, seeming stunned by the force of her words.

And she waited, all the anger gone, leaving an aching emptiness.

Without anger, there was nothing left. Nothing but grief, and love, and loss. No defences.

"I know that fate ordained that my son, as well as everyone else there, die. It is not easy. But we must all accept it."

"Fate." Suddenly it became less about grief and more about truth. "Is fate what guides the world?"

"Of course."

"In your world I have another name." Once again, Aslan's words hit her, this time like a sledgehammer.

"Why? What do you mean by fate?" she asked urgently.

"Child, this is no discussion for a funeral," he said in a lower voice.

"I need to know."

Uncle Harold looked at her, then away again. "Fate is predestination, what happens in the world."

"So you can't change things by your choices?"

"Your choices are already known."

"They can't change anything, then? Everything will always be just as it was set to be?"

"Things never happen the same way twice." Aslan's words echoed through her mind.

"Exactly." Uncle Harold nodded, then turned and drifted away, leaving her - once again - alone.

Fate isn't the answer.

Then what is?

Aslan, tell me. Tell me your name in this world. Please.

There were so many ways this could've gone; the person whose hand was on her shoulder could've been Caspian, Uncle Harold, a mysterious stranger, even Peter or Edmund... I even considered Aslan. Eventually, Uncle Harold was the easiest and most logical answer.

Sorry if I got any details about Harold and Alberta's belief wrong; I've not read VDT in too long, since (as I like to say it) the Dawn Treader is behind my chest of drawers.